


Experiments in Intimate Geography

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Liar Game
Genre: Canon Queer Character, F/F, Mutual Masturbation, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, it's remarkably straightforward, and Fukunaga makes the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiments in Intimate Geography

She wants to be experimental. So they experiment.

She wants to explore. So they explore.

For once, it's remarkably that straightforward, although not without a few coy blushes on Nao's part.

Fukunaga makes the rules and sets the boundaries, by necessity. She knows her body in and out, what feels good, and more importantly what just feels foreign, and what will tear the control right out from under her. They might be in Nao's room, the one assigned to her by the corporation this round, but Fukunaga takes charge.

And Nao, the idiot, follows along of course, because that's simply what she does, except when someone suggests she do something practical, like look out for herself for a change. But foolish as that sensibility might be, for once Fukunaga's grateful for the ease at which Nao puts herself in the hands of her elder.

"Really?" Fukunaga asks, when she declares that she will be the one making the rules. "No problem with that at all?"

"Well, I haven't really done...you know...and I trust you not to hurt me..."

Fukunaga smirks. "Only if you wanted me to." The words flow out casually, no big deal, except that some innocent girl's mind seems to be blown by, of all things, that idea.

"No...no..." Nao shakes her head, and suddenly gets serious. "I trust you, Fukunaga-san."

Right. Then. Fukunaga sits back in an armchair, creating a throne of it. "Take them off."

By her rules, Nao strips first. Though it is, perhaps, the most demure disrobing Fukunaga's ever borne witness to. With the dropping of her cardigan-skirt-blouse combo in a pastel pile around her bare feet, Nao only reveals more clothing and perhaps a bit of shoulder. A camisole, a slip, both in a satiny fabric gleam in the lamplight. A bra strap remains half concealed, and the shadow of panties beneath the semi-sheer slip.

"All the way, Nao." Fukunaga feels a little bit of need-to-know surge through her. A simple girl should not wear so many layers.

This time, as fabric meets floor in the most direct excuse of a striptease Fukunaga's ever seen, skin becomes unveiled. Nao, naked and vulnerable, still fully shows herself. She has a birthmark on her upper right thigh, and a small scar on her stomach, but otherwise Nao's body is young, soft, untouched, unmodified from the standard mold. A body unearned but beautiful.

Watch and see how it's done, Fukunaga thinks of Nao, her hands already at the hem of her shirt. Those instructions aren't necessary when wide eyes already watch in interest. Let her look.

She's proud of her body, of every curve she's fought to have, of the taut strength that comes from years of training in karate, and the experiences she's had in it. Every scar she gotten from fights, from surgery, from accidents, reflects a part of who she is, and more importantly, that she's earned this. Her clothing, just jeans and a t-shirt—she dresses for comfort today, not to impress—get folded into a neat pile on the bed, and on top of that go her panties and bra.

"Come here." Fukunaga sits back down and stretches luxuriously in the chair.

Nao takes a few hesitant steps forward, unused to displaying her body. Fukunaga watches how it moves, that unconscious exaggeration of Nao's hips, the wavering of her soft breasts, the concavity of her stomach, and the movement of the scar as she inhales and climbs on to Fukunaga's lap, thighs on thighs. Their lips touch a little bit, as their hands explore the safer spaces, Nao's silky dark hair and Fukunaga's scalp respectively. Fukuaga leans her head back for the massage.

Necks of course, then breasts, Fukunaga's rest firm and high even without the bra, Nao's droop a little bit from their weight. Fukunaga feels the scar at Nao's navel, the one interesting bit about her. It's flat, mostly faded, but the mark counts, worth asking about later.

She gives Nao another mark, though temporary, on her neck as proof that Fukunaga has her tonight. Nao gasps a little bit, until she's silenced by a small kiss.

Fukunaga guides Nao's exploration over her body, the secret places that feel good—her nipples, her armpits, the small of her back, and yes, her penis. Her fingers cover Nao's as she shows how and where to touch in order to elicit a good response.

"Just there."

Nao stumbles a bit with the motions, though not half as clumsy as Fukunaga might expect, and she stays within the lines. Good girl. Fukunaga relaxes a little and removes her hand from Nao's, trusting that the idiot will follow directions.

It's never been quite like this, Fukunaga thinks through the sensations, unwittingly exploring her partner's body, stroking the sides, and—if the shifting and the giggle are correct—finding one of Nao's ticklish spots. For once, she has nothing to prove, neither that she's a "real man" or a "real woman." It's just experimentation that leads her down this road and makes her want to take this chance, even as in the morning another game awaits for them to beat.

"Is this good, Fukunaga-san?" The quiet voice draws her out of her thoughts, but Nao never stops her motion.

Yes. Yes it is. "You're doing fine." Fukunaga reassures Nao. "A little more pressure..." She clutches Nao to her with one hand, while the other curves forward and explores between her folds. Nao gasps sharply, and halts for just a second. "Don't you even think about stopping," Fukunaga makes her demand with as much force as she can muster. She's close, so close to coming, and if that idiot thinks to stop now just because she's getting a little pleasure of her own...

Nao doesn't slow down at all as Fukunaga grinds against her. Her climax is tainted—only slightly—by the need to keep silent and not wake the other players, no matter how much she wants to call out. It's just a gasp, and an opening of her eyes (which she doesn't remember closing) to the sight of Nao blinking at her, red from the top of her chest to her earlobes.

"Embarrassed?" Fukunaga gives a low throaty laugh, as she adjusts the angle of her hand, and begins to concentrate on Nao in earnest.

"I'm...I don't know...Ahh!"

"Shhh..." Fukunaga's other hand, resting on Nao's shoulder pulls Nao down for a kiss.

Nao starts rubbing against her hand. "Sorry...it's just feeling kind of good, Fukunaga-san," she says, her voice shallow and breathy with her effort.

"That's kind of the point. If you weren't aware."

"Right." It comes out more a sigh.

Fukunaga lets Nao ride her hand for a little bit more, until her arm starts falling asleep. There's only so much she can tolerate, and the numbness of her right hand becomes a warning sign. "Nao..." Fukunaga says, not ungently and surprisingly disappointed that she has to say this, "we should stop here."

"Oh. Right." Nao gets up and stands before Fukunaga, naked and a little more broken in now. Fukunaga stares at her hand, still a bit sticky from her juice, and admittedly a little curious, but....

"Nao, fold your clothes." Fukunaga gestures to the pile on the floor, and while Nao turns away to do that, Fukunaga takes an experimental taste. Not horrible, she supposes, which is also an apt description for what happened. Different. Worth exploring.

Nao puts her folded clothing on another chair, which makes Fukunaga look at her own neatly stacked set of clothes. She should...should what? Put them on, and find somewhere else to sleep for a few short hours. Go back to her own room? How lonely. Akiyama's room? The thought seems a little ridiculous, wishful thinking at best, and there's already Nao, who looks a little confused and just as unsure as Fukunaga feels. Fukunaga shrugs and moves her clothing to the armchair. Here's as good a place as any.

"Fukunaga-san? Was it bad?"

"What do you think?"

"I...I kind of liked it."

"Me too."

The younger girl exhales and states the obvious. "Oh. That's good then."

"You'll get better with practice." Fukunaga smiles and pulls back the sheets. Cuddling actually sounds fun, curling up to someone warm and soft, kind of like an extra, if more delicate, pillow. Once Fukunaga gets in, Nao stands dumbly at the foot of the bed for a second before a light comes on in her eyes and Fukunaga feels assured that she won't need to go so far as to invite the little idiot to sleep in her own bed.

"There's going to be practice?" Nao pulls back the sheets on her side of the bed and curls right up to Fukunaga. She's warm from their exertions, except for her feet which manage to be ice against Fukunaga's calves.

Lots of practice, Fukunaga thinks, already planning the hows of the next encounter if not the where and when. Akiyama's still her number one of course, if an elusive one who has yet to show an iota of libido one way or another. And Nao has potential: pliable, customizable, interested. Only one thing remains of their encounter that bothers her, well one immediate thing.

"Next time, we're like this. You call me Yuuko." Fukunaga kisses Nao on the forehead. "That's my name."

Nao gives one of her signature warm smiles as she stretches to turn off the lamp. "Yes, Yuuko-san."


End file.
